


Country Feedback

by solitary_thrush



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bad Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hannibal learns his lesson, Heartbreaking, M/M, Mental Anguish, Poor Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:39:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitary_thrush/pseuds/solitary_thrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A month after 1.10 ("Buffet Froid"), Will comes to Hannibal having given up on life.</p><p>A companion piece to "I Myself Am Hell."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Country Feedback

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know where Will's head is in this fic, listen to R.E.M. do "Country Feedback" live with a riff on Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone" at the end: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CzjF_6p_Xs>. The lyrics bear reproducing in full:
> 
> _This flower is scorched / This film is on / On a maddening loop / These clothes / These clothes don't fit us right / I'm to blame / It's all the same / It's all the same_
> 
> _You come to me with a bone in your hand / You come to me with your hair curled tight / You come to me with positions / You come to me with excuses / Ducked out in a row / You wear me out / You wear me out_
> 
> _We've been through fake-a-breakdown / Self hurt / Plastics, collections / Self help, self pain, EST, psychics, fuck all / I was central / I had control / I lost my head / I need this / I need this / A paper weight, a junk garage / A winter rain, a honey pot / Crazy, all the lovers have been tagged / A hotline, a wanted add / It's crazy what you could've had_
> 
> _It's crazy what you could've had / It's crazy what you could've had / I need this / I need this_
> 
> _Once upon a time / You looked so fine / Threw the bum a dime / In your prime / Didn't you_
> 
> _You go to him now, he calls you / You can't refuse / When you've got nothing / You've got nothing to lose / You're invisible now / You're invisible / You've got nothing to conceal_

Hannibal isn’t surprised to hear the doorbell after midnight. Will has been coming to him off and on for nearly two months when he needs to remember who he is and where he is and why he is. Hannibal has given him the control – of sorts – that Alana refused him. In return, he gets to have Will in as many ways as Will will let him.

When he stands on Hannibal's doorstep at night, Will is usually some combination of anxious, excited, aroused, and afraid. Most of the time, he smiles nervously. He fidgets, never knowing what to do with his hands. He’s charmingly awkward as though he’s on a first date.

Hannibal fucks him sweetly on those nights.

Sometimes, Will is angry and aggressive, as when he feels an injustice has been done. Then, he knocks rather than rings the doorbell and takes all control once he’s inside. He fucks Hannibal or asks Hannibal to fuck him. He wants it hard and fast until he hurts. It all depends on how responsible he’s feeling for whatever happened.

Tonight, though, Will stands there with dark circles under his eyes and a brooding, unsure expression. He seems to be somewhere else – imagining himself committing another murder. Nonetheless, he comes inside when Hannibal invites him in.

Hannibal watches as Will sheds his coat and hangs it up as he’s been taught to do. His manners have improved as he’s spent more time with Hannibal. A sexually satisfied Will is a compliant Will; he’s open to a great deal of schooling after sex.

Shoulders slumped and eyes on his feet, Will walks to the kitchen without saying anything. Not only is this behavior impolite, it’s also abnormal: Will is a talker. Hannibal can smell the despair on him. He’s coming off of a hard case this week – children, many of them, abused and left gruesomely dead. Hannibal expected him to show up around this time, and from his choice of the doorbell, Hannibal surmised that he wanted soothing sex – or maybe just to be touched and held and cherished. He usually wants that and little else after the bad cases.

Tonight is different. Will is distracted.

“Are you okay, Will?” Hannibal asks as he prepares a glass of whiskey for Will according to his preferences.

Will looks up like a startled animal who’s been tranquilized: he wants to flee but he’s too shocked to do so. Too dispirited.

That’s what it is. Will’s spirit has gone out of him.

Nonetheless, he nods a yes and sips the whiskey as though everything is no less fucked up than it usually is.

Hannibal knows what Will wants – delicate caresses and the warm press of Hannibal’s body against his while he sleeps. Still, he lets Will finish the whiskey before he places a single, soft kiss on his lips and leads him to the bedroom.

Will undresses methodically. He keeps his eyes on the floor – not in disgrace or contrition but because they’ve settled there and he doesn’t seem to want to redirect them. His movements are controlled and contained but uncaring. Hannibal studies him as he strips down to his own boxers.

“You seem disoriented,” Hannibal says. “Where are you?”

Will looks at him with the thousand yard stare prevalent among combat veterans and says, “I’m in your house, Hannibal.”

His voice is removed, as though someone else is speaking through him, but he’s present when Hannibal looks into his eyes. Will checks his watch, the only thing he’s still wearing.

“It’s 12:47 a.m. My name is Will Graham. Do I have to draw another clock or are you going to fuck me?”

Despite the familiar words, there’s no sarcasm in his tone, nor any anger. Just resignation.

When Hannibal doesn’t answer, Will steps forward and presses his lips against Hannibal’s. It’s not much of a kiss, but Will has made himself clear. Hannibal kisses him deeply. He kisses back but in a meek, reserved way that’s unlike him. Perhaps kissing is too intimate for him right now.

As soon as the thought crosses Hannibal’s mind, it must cross Will’s mind, too, because he starts to kiss like he means it. He runs his hands lightly over Hannibal’s shoulders and back, and drifts down to squeeze Hannibal’s ass. The kiss deepens and Will grinds his hip against Hannibal’s rising erection. Hannibal, ever the gentleman, touches Will to ensure that he wants this as much as he seems to. Will ruts against his hand and adds a nip to the end of a kiss, and for a moment, Hannibal thinks he wants it rough this time.

Before he can confirm that, Will breaks away and gets on his hands and knees on the bed. He watches with a distinctly animalistic gaze as Hannibal selects a condom and squeezes lube on his fingers. Hannibal opens him and stretches him and caresses his prostate, but he’s rewarded only with quick gasps rather than the usual moans. Will may be in an odd mood but his ass is begging for it. Hannibal obliges him.

He sets a moderate pace, waiting for Will’s response to quicken or slow his thrusts. Will grips the duvet tightly and gasps and lowers his head. He’s difficult to read. Hannibal fucks him steadily for a few minutes. Will’s breathing grows more ragged, but he’s not making the noises of pleasure Hannibal usually hears from him. He’d seem like a man punishing himself for something – except that even from behind, Hannibal can tell that his affect is too flat for that.

Hannibal thrusts in hard, once, and stays there as he leans forward to whisper into Will’s ear.

“What do you want, Will?”

“Just fuck me,” Will answers tightly. He pushes back against Hannibal, urging him on.

And so Hannibal does. He varies the tempo for a few minutes before he settles into a rhythm and reaches around for Will’s cock. He’s not as hard as he could be, but he responds to Hannibal’s expert hand. Hannibal coordinates the rhythms and soon he feels Will getting close beneath him. He quickens his pace until Will clenches and shudders and comes with a gasp and a low moan. Hannibal takes only a minute more to finish, savoring the physical release as best he can in spite of the fact that this is the worst sex he’s had with Will.

He cleans himself off in the bathroom and returns with a warm washcloth for Will. Will has slumped onto his side so he can face Hannibal. Will likes to watch this ritual: Hannibal emerging from the bathroom with a washcloth for him. He said once that he loves seeing what sex does to Hannibal’s body. Now, though, his eyes are closed.

Hannibal cleans Will’s semen off of the bed instead and rinses the cloth out. Will hasn’t moved when he returns. Hannibal slides under the covers next to him and places a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re worrying me, Will,” he says. “Are you all right?”

Will’s eyes flutter open. Distant. No – empty.

“Whatever’s wrong with me,” he says, “it’s not getting better. I don’t think it’s ever going to get better.”

He stares at Hannibal and Hannibal can see the last vestiges of Will clawing and scraping at nothing. If he hadn't come here tonight - it doesn't bear thinking about.

Will closes his eyes again. “I’m tired,” he mumbles.

Hannibal tugs at the bedclothes under Will and Will moves just enough to join him. Hannibal pulls him close. He slides over and lets Hannibal spoon against him.

“Perhaps another neurologist should look at your test results,” Hannibal says as he brushes stray strands of hair from Will’s face.

Will doesn’t reply, but Hannibal can hear him thinking that it won’t work. That nothing will work.

In the morning, he will make a few phone calls. Will will have a diagnosis by the afternoon and an appointment for IVIG therapy and the first dose of corticosteroids by the evening.

Until then, Hannibal holds him tightly and thinks about what he might have lost.  


End file.
